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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431027">And Life Goes On</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentienceOfSilence/pseuds/SentienceOfSilence'>SentienceOfSilence</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Technically his counterpart), Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Differently-Abled Hermione Granger, Dimension Travel, Disabled Hermione, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Good Ron Weasley, Harry Potter Bashing (kinda, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hopefully No Overpowered Characters, International Students, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Not Epilogue Compliant, Physical Disability, Powerful Harry, Powerful Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Sad with a Happy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:41:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentienceOfSilence/pseuds/SentienceOfSilence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing everyone he loved in the final battle, Harry Potter is done with this life; all he wants to do is be with the people he cared about. Death begs to differ, and throws him into another universe where his counterpart is, to quote Hermione, “the most self-aggrandizing prat ever to grace the halls of Hogwarts.” At least Hermione managed to come with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Next Great Adventure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Disclaimer. I do not own any of these Characters. Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. I make no profit from writing this work. This is just for fun, satisfaction, and to help me practice writing in a complicated foreign language (known as English). Enjoy.</p><p>Trigger warning: Suicide Attempt.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry Potter stood on top of the Astronomy tower of Hogwarts castle, or more accurately, what was left of it. The battle that decided the fate of the wizarding world had made its mark on the ancient building. Corridors that once held the laughter of children in between classes were now littered with scorch marks from countless offensive spells. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was cracked and broken, never more to show the blue sky and sunlight, eternally stuck in the doom and gloom of that fateful night.</p><p> </p><p>He took in a deep breath and stared into the starry night sky, thinking of Dante's interpretation of Heaven in that Divine Comedy that Hermione insisted he read.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione. The human toll of the battle was far greater than the architectural damage. Fred. Ginny. Molly. Colin. Neville. Luna. Even Draco and Narcissa. Never to walk the earth again. He wondered if they were here, right now, watching over him like the stars in the night sky.</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, and chuckled. It was a muggle's work of literature, by all means beautiful, doubtlessly poetic, but never accurate. His Hermione was gone, and he would soon follow her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Seven hours ago.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Harry Potter is dead!” exclaimed Riddle triumphantly, “Your savior is dead. He died trying to run away, while others sacrificed their lives for him.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>No, Harry!” Hermione pushed her way to the front of the crowd, running toward Harry's corpse.</em></p><p> </p><p>“<span>Crucio</span><em>.” said Bellatrix, pointing her wand at the young woman, who was still making movements towards her lover's corpse even while writhing in pain.</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Such a touching sight.” remarked Bellatrix, “But a mudblood must not be allowed to sully the Dark Lord's presence. </em><span>Avada Kedavra</span><em>.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>NO!” shouted Harry, his guise of death abandoned at the </em><em><b>truculent</b></em><em> woman's words.</em></p><p> </p><p>The recommencement of the battle ensured that Hermione would not be the last death of the day.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Luna, we've got to kill the snake!” shouted Neville, firing </em><span>Bombardas</span><em> and </em><span>Diffindos</span><em> uselessly at Nagini's magic-resistant hide, before the serpent lunged and embedded its fangs into Neville's wand arm. Luna undid a penknife and jammed it into the snake's head, but not before being hit by a stray </em><span>Sectumsempra</span><em> in the fray. A Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw died in each other's arms that day.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ginny was dueling the Dark Lord's Lieutenant with two other members of the DA when a green beam exited Bellatrix's wand and impacted Ginny in her left arm; she was just a second too slow to dodge.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Not my daughter you bitch!” yelled Molly, firing unforgivable after unforgivable at Bellatrix Lestrange. The two women hit each other with killing curses at the same time as Voldemort screamed, his most trusted servant defeated by a middle-aged homemaker and a few teenagers.</em></p><p> </p><p>It didn't matter if Dumbledore's plan backfired on Voldemort in the end. It didn't matter if he was now the master of the Elder Wand and the other two deathly hallows. No wand, no matter how powerful, or even one made by Death himself, could bring back the people he loved.</p><p> </p><p>He managed to summon the stone after the battle, but try as he might, he could not bear to turn the stone the required three times to see his loved ones. Hermione had suffered so much. Ginny had so much to live for. He didn't want to face Molly for the death of her children, even though he knew well enough that his surrogate mother would not have blamed him.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn't bring the dead back to life, but at least he could join the dead.</p><p> </p><p>He took a deep breath, spread his arms wide, and leaped.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inspirations:</p><p>This work contains elements that are inspired by the reaper challenge by Reptillia28, but with a twist: instead of time-travel, Harry and Hermione get to return to a Mirror Universe.</p><p>Inspired by Strange Reflections and Harry Potter and the Last Chance by LeQuin. Please note that the story and plot are very different from those works.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Night of Horrors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The few seconds before he reached the ground were among the longest moments in Harry's life. Most people who survive the regrettable act of hurling oneself from a tall building remark that this was the moment they thought it was a bad idea. Harry Potter, on the other hand, only felt elation. After all, according to Dumbledore's master plan, he was never meant to survive beyond Voldemort's demise. <em>Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while other survives.</em><span> The prophecy never precluded the death of both the chosen one and the Dark Lord.</span> The wind rushing past his face gave him a certain giddy light-headedness, reminding him of brighter days, where he could feel the adrenaline of diving on his Firebolt to catch the snitch in a heated quidditch game. He could almost see Ron's histrionics after that final quidditch match in fifth year, hear the chants of “Weasley is Our King.” He smiled sadly at the memories of his best mate's antics; if only he could hear Ron's voice again.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“<em>Harry, Hermione, Lavender's in trouble!” said Ron, pointing at the Marauder's Map.</em></p><p>
  <em>Hermione's brow furrowed as she took the piece of parchment from Ron. They were using it to keep an eye on their classmates after they heard of Hogwart's takeover by Death Eaters in Umbridge's office. </em>
</p><p>“<em>I'm so sorry Ron.” said Hermione, after seeing Lavender's name in the Dungeons of Hogwarts, the names of Alecto Carrow and Fenrir Greyback nearby. “I can't imagine Riddle would use were-...”</em></p><p>“<em>We need to save her!” shouted Ron, “it's only two weeks before the full moon!”</em></p><p>“<em>We can't jeopardize the mission!” insisted Hermione.</em></p><p>“<em>Wait, Ron's right, but so is Hermione.” said Harry, forestalling a potentially disastrous argument between the two. “We know how much Lavender means to you, Ron, but we also need to destroy all of Tom's horcruxes.”</em></p><p>“<em>So what are we going to do? We can't just sit here and wait until Lavender gets fed to Greyback!”</em></p><p>“<em>We aren't. We don't have any leads on the other Horcruxes, nor do we have a way to destroy the Locket. Hermione, you said that Basilisk Venom can be used to destroy Horcruxes, right?”</em></p><p>“<em>Like when you destroyed the diary.” said Hermione, “but we can't risk breeding a Basilisk, even if you're a parselmouth.”</em></p><p>“<em>How long does Basilisk venom last in a dead snake?” asked Harry.</em></p><p>“<em>You can't be serious! Not only are we going to have to sneak into the chamber of secrets itself, but you also want us to do so under Snape's nose?” said Hermione, latching onto Harry's train of thought.</em></p><p>“<em>Look, it's our best shot at destroying the locket. And I'm almost certain that there's another Horcrux hidden in the school; we might have to ask Dobby to track it down for us.”</em></p><p>“<em>Bloody hell, mate. I guess we'd better get started then.” said Ron, his face a mixture of worry and relief at Harry's words.</em></p><p>
  <em>They came up with one of the most daring rescue plans in Magical history as they chain-apparated up towards Scotland. They made their move three nights before the full moon. Harry, being the only one besides Voldemort who could enter the Chamber of Secrets, would collect the Basilisk fangs while Hermione and Ron would head down to the Dungeons under Harry's Invisibility cloak to rescue Lavender. The three of them (four if their mission was successful) would then regroup near the whomping willow's entrance, and escape to Hogsmeade via the Shrieking Shack, from whence they would be able to apparate to Shell Cottage and safety.</em>
</p><p>The ground was looming near, and Harry closed his eyes, ready for the final impact, yet all he could see were the blood and tears on that fateful night.</p><p>
  <em>The three of them apparated to the Shrieking Shack and immediately slipped on the cloak, making sure to disillusion themselves in case their feet poked through. Not for the first time did Harry wish he were still the size of a first-year.** Quickly making their way to the entrance under the whomping willow, they then snuck into the castle through the main doors, which were thankfully left slightly ajar by the new caretaker (Filch and Mrs. Norris had been murdered soon after term started for being a squib; more accurately, they were used for “highly entertaining” target practice in Defence Against the Dark Arts class). After dropping Harry off in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, thanking the heavens that Myrtle was hiding in the Great Lake at the moment, Ron and Hermione went down to the dungeons to rescue their old housemate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lavender's cell in the dungeons was guarded by none other than Fenrir Greyback himself, who was currently dozing off on a chair, dreaming nice, wolfish dreams of ripping misbehaving students apart limb from limb while feasting on their internal organs. Suddenly, he started, his heightened werewolf senses detecting an intruder. Before he could stand up, however, he was hit by two stunners that came from nowhere and slumped back into his chair. Ron put another two stunners into the werewolf for good measure before Hermione stopped him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lavender sat alone in the corner of her cell, her hair was matted with blood and looked as if it had not been washed in weeks, a far cry from the well-groomed teenager who cheered alongside Hermione every time Gryffindor scored a goal. There were deep claw-marks running down her face, marring her shapely features. Two hollow eyes looked up at the commotion before regaining their light at the sight of a red-headed, freckly young man shifting into visibility.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Ron? Is that really you?” asked Lavender, unsure if she was just seeing a very realistic hallucination.</em></p><p>“<em>It's me, Lav-Lav. We're here to break you free.” said Ron, magically undoing the heavy lock to the dungeon cell.</em></p><p>“<em>No, stop, you have to go! It's not safe!” said Lavender in a panicking voice.</em></p><p>“<em>It's ok, we stunned Greyback, he won't be attacking anyone anytime soon.” interpolated Hermione.</em></p><p>“<em>You don't understand. You have to go, both of you. I'm dangerous!” Lavender screamed.</em></p><p>“<em>What do you mean?” asked Hermione.</em></p><p>“<em>I'm a werewolf!” exclaimed Lavender, breaking down into tears.</em></p><p>
  <em>Ron went over and embraced his girlfriend tightly. “Hush, Lavender. It's OK. I'm not going to think any less of you because of that. If Harry can put up with Hermione, I can definitely put up with you having two times of the month.”</em>
</p><p>“<em>Shut up, Ronald.” said Hermione, scowling unappreciatively at his jocular comment, “But he's right. It's still a few nights before the full moon. We can break you out and get you to a safe place before you need to transform.”</em></p><p>“<em>Thanks, Hermione, but you don't know the whole story. Snape's been brewing a potion for You-know-who. It's supposed to extend the transformation window for werewolves for a week, to ... to make them more deadly. They've been testing it on 'uncooperative students'.” Lavender gulped. “You have to leave. Right now.” Lavender's blinked and her eyes turned into a wolfish shade of yellow. “Go! Now! I can't hold it back much longer.”</em></p><p>“<em>I'm not leaving you!” said Ron, “It's not the full moon yet Lavender, you can fight it. I know you can.”</em></p><p>
  <em>They heard footsteps echoing in the hallway. “Someone's coming.” said Hermione, biting her lower lip. “It doesn't sound like Harry.”</em>
</p><p>“<em>Hermione, take the cloak and cover for us.” said Ron. “I'll work on Lavender's restraints.”</em></p><p>
  <em>The door clanged open and greasy-haired head of Severus Snape poked in, before ducking at an invisible stunner.</em>
</p><p>“<em>What is the matter, Severus?” asked Amycus Carrow, “did Greyback eat the test subject again?”</em></p><p>“<em>Greyback's unconsious.” Snape said. “It seems as if someone is trying to rescue the girl.”</em></p><p>“<em>What is the meaning of this, Severus? The Dark Lord...”</em></p><p>“<em>The Dark Lord will be most pleased with the results of the experiment.” Snape smirked, locking the door with one of his own charms. “I suggest we get a good night's sleep. Maybe have a midnight snack.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Hermione snuck a glance at the Marauder's map. Unexpectedly, the coast was clear. Taking a chance, she tried the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was locked. She exhausted her entire vocabulary of unlocking spells before telling Ron the bad news.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lavender was in incredible pain, her face was already lengthened into a snout, and her once carefully-manicured nails were now in the form of long, sharp claws. </em>
</p><p>“<em>Get outside the bars.” she growled. “It's the only way.” before her transformation completed.</em></p><p>
  <em>The door on the cell bars sealed shut as the full moon became visible, locking Ron and Lavender on one side of the room, and Hermione and Greyback on the other. </em>
</p><p>“<em>Anti-werewolf wards.” whispered Hermione, locking eyes with Ron.</em></p><p>
  <em>Ron looked back and raised his wand: “Reducto.” he said, pointing it at the bars. The spell impacted a field around them before dissipating. “Bloody hell.” he swore under his breath.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione was distracted by a low growl behind her. The transformation had awoken Greyback. Both of them were locked in with another werewolf.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She backed away from the savage wolf-man, readying her wand.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Stupefy”. It didn't work. A transformed werewolf could not be taken down by a lone stunner.</em></p><p>
  <em>The werewolf opened his mouth, ready to pounce.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Reducto!” she yelled, blasting the werewolf apart into a shower of intestines and gore.</em></p><p>
  <em>Behind the bars Ron was taking in ragged breaths as he held his Shield, his wand arm was trembling as he poured every last ounce of strength into maintaining it against his girlfriend's onslaught. Unlike Hermione, he couldn't kill his werewolf, not when she was the person he came here to save.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Hermione, tell my parents I love them.” he said, finally dropping his wand in exhaustion.</em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione's face blanched at the indescribable carnage in the compartment beside her. To her dying day (which would be in a few weeks time, but she didn't know that), she would not be able to forget the smell of blood and entrails as her former roommate ripped into one of her best friends. She was unable to help, thanks to the magical barrier the death eaters set up, and paralyzed, she was unable to look away.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>A few hours later, Harry blasted off the door that held the cell, only to see Hermione curled up in a foetal position, crying her eyes out. Beyond the bars lay a sated and sleeping werewolf, still yet to regain human form, and a human carcass that bore an unmistakable mop of red hair.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>The next few hours passed in a daze.They didn't know how long they sat there in embrace, or how they got the strength to sneak out of the castle before Snape came and checked on the results of the experiment. They couldn't remember telling Bill of his brother's demise, besides the numbing sense of hopelessness that pervaded the room, and the burning sensation of the bottle of whisky that was passed along.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione stared at Lavender's dot on the map until day broke, and watched as it faded and disappeared in the cell. She didn't need any seer abilities to know that Lavender had decided to end her own life. Harry wrapped his arms around her and let her scream into his shoulder and pound his chest. He couldn't feel pain anymore.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Just as Harry was about to join Lavender, the ground opened up in a disc of white light, and he found himself stark naked in a brightly-lit office.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Oy Blyat. You again.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Author's Note. In order to avert Weasley-bashing and/or Hermione-bashing in the Original Universe and still keep this a Harmony fic, it would make sense to, well, not break up Ron and Lavender. So instead of Ron being a git and dating Lavender to make Hermione jealous (note that Hermione was also being a git of equal proportions and asking others to the Slughorn parties to do the same to Ron), Ron dates Lavender out of true love, and, alas, Voldemort has a penchant for targeting the loved ones of those who dared resist him. Also, in this AU, Ron does not abandon Harry and Hermione, and Luna was not captured (hence no Malfoy Manor). Unfortunately, Ron had to die, though he died a noble death rescuing a friend.</p><p>** Note on the Invisibility Cloak. I actually haven't watched the movies, but I'm just going to venture that Harry and Hermione are roughly the same height (5' 5”; Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson's height) and Ron is about six feet (Rupert Gint is 5' 8”). Harry's hight going to be an important, though minor detail, later on in the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3. Meeting Vladim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oy Blyat. You again.” swore someone in a thick Russian accent.</p><p>Harry turned to see a masked man dressed in a black tracksuit, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses under a thick ushanka. He had a menacing air about him, faintly reminding Harry of some of the older Durmstrang students. The man was sitting behind a solid mahogany desk, which bore a thick folder on top of it. Seeing his nakedness, Harry rushed to cover his privates.</p><p>“Well, put some clothes on, will you?” he gestured to a clothes rack which appeared on the wall. Blushing, Harry quickly retrieved the requisite articles of clothing and put them on, slightly lessening the awkwardness of this encounter.</p><p>“Who are you? Is this the afterlife?” asked Harry.</p><p>A vein pulsated between in the small patch of skin between the man's head and sunglasses.</p><p>“Humans are utter morons! Where the blin do you think you are? Where did you expect to be when you threw yourself off a building like that. I swear, this is the LAST multiverse where I am giving away those darn hallows. Masters of Death, which idiot thought humans were supposed to be capable of being Reaper's assistants! Next multiverse, I'm doing a dratted lottery for dolphins instead! Aaaagh. Suka Blyat! !$%^%$@%^#%” the man ranted on while swearing intermittently for another hour or so about humans and how they were utterly incapable of rational thought, let alone do what they are supposed to do.</p><p>“Uhh, sorry to interrupt, but are you Death?” asked Harry meekly.</p><p>“Oh, what. Right. You. Yes, I am death, in a sense. Incarnation of the Grim Reaper of all Speakers of Indo-European languages on Earth version 233.56.348.33, at your service. You may call me Vladim.”</p><p>“Err, OK, nice to meet you, Vladim. Can I go to wherever dead people go now? I really want to meet Hermione and my parents again, maybe even Sirius...”</p><p>“You are NOT even DEAD!” shouted Vladim, losing his temper again. “Didn't the spirit of that manipulative old bastard tell you that the last time you were here, which, I remind you, was a mere SEVEN HOURS ago?” Vladim banged his fist on the wall, accidentally punching a hole through it.</p><p>“VLADIM BLYAT!” a loud voice complained from what seemed to be a neighbouring room.</p><p>“Oh pizdec.” exclaimed Vladim, before waving his hand and sealing the hole, “calm down, Vladim, calm down,” he said to himself. “Now, where are my pills?”</p><p>“Um, right there sir?” Harry pointed to the bottle of pills that suddenly appeared on the table.</p><p>“Right, where was I?” said Vladim, calming down noticeably after taking his medication, and also strangely switching to an American accent. “You have no idea the utter pain in the ass you humans are. You are, unfortunately, quite alive. As a matter of fact, being the only so-called 'Master of Death', you are unable to die for any reason other than old age, ever since you disarmed young Draco after he was sent to hunt you two down. You have, however, been an utter headache with your absolute disregard for your own personal safety. I had hoped that falling in love with Hermione, the one person in the Magical world who had sufficient common sense to avoid an untimely demise would snap you out of it, but alas, your faking death seemed to have an adverse affect on her mental health...”</p><p>Vladim was interrupted by a loud banging on the door behind the office. “LET ME IN VLADIM! YOU PROMISED!”</p><p>“Ach, nicht du schon wieder! To speak of the devil.” Vladim pinched his nose while a bushy-haired, translucent former witch barrelled into Harry.</p><p>“Don't you ever try that again!” said Hermione, sobbing into Harry's shoulder. “I can forgive you for the whole playing dead thing, but if you ever dare jump off a building again I am going to bring you back to life so I can kill you myself!”</p><p>“As I was saying, your seeming death caused Hermione to divest herself of her very well-developed prefrontal cortex, and after her demise it was only a matter of time before you decided to kick the bucket yourself. It seems while some humans, both of you included, have the wisdom to realize death is a gift, unlike poor Mr. Riddle back in King's Cross, humans are incapable of realizing that Life itself is a gift: a boon, a chance to express yourself in endless creativity limited by only the bounds of physics and magic, effecting changes on the Universe with parts of the universe. Seeking knowledge, becoming part of the Multiverse given form, thinking about itself, as your own Carl Sagan once quipped. Instead you decide that this whole experience is a bother, lose sight of the bigger picture in your own internal turmoil, and either make the lamentable decline into hubris and pride, engendering petty squabbles that culminate in prejudices, and from those prejudices, hatred and destruction, as most Slytherin purebloods do, or fall into depression and darkness, resulting in both of your unfortunate demises. Personally, Hermione, I had hoped you'd at least choose a better way out than dying-by-death-eater. That has to be the messiest way to go I can think of.”</p><p>“What about the deal, Vladim? I promised to do all your paperwork from the moment I came here until Harry arrives. Pay up.” Hermione glared at the imposing Russian.</p><p>“Worst deal I ever made.” quipped Vladim. “barely got six hours of work from you.”</p><p>“Hermione?” asked Harry, “what deal?”</p><p>“Miss Granger here wanted to spend the rest of Eternity with you. I usually recommend against that, as an eternity can get frightfully boring very quickly, but you two are literally incapable of not going insane without the other on Earth, even before you were dating, so I think binding your souls together would be create less of a headache for everyone involved. Unfortunately, I assumed you'd live a long life learning all about death, instead of jumping here the instant your task was done. You see, this leaves me in a bit of a pickle: I would really like to kill Harry off right now, but I'd also really like to keep my job for another hundred earth years, at least until you get that recommendation letter for your Doctor of Philosophy in Death from the Boss. On the other hand, Miss Granger's body, and more importantly her brain, is well on its way to decomposition, and thus incapable of hosting her soul without creating what you call an inferius, though I much prefer the American term zombie.”</p><p>“So basically you can't keep Harry here and can't send me back, where does that leave <em>us</em>?” asked Hermione, glaring yet more daggers at the hapless reaper.</p><p>Vladim fidgeted in his chair before a slightly cracked lightbulb appeared above his head. “Just a moment, lassie,” he said, switching to a Scottish accent, “I think we may have a mutually-beneficial solution!” He pulled a strange rectangular device from his tracksuit pocket before conjuring a gigantic privacy screen between him and the dangerous duo.</p><p>“Does he always do that?” asked Harry, quirking his eyebrow at Hermione.</p><p>“From my seven hours of experience, it seems he has as many personalities as the number of languages he speaks, each one more annoying and incomprehensible than the last.”</p><p>“How many is that?”</p><p>“Well, there are roughly 445 Indo-European languages in existence, not counting extinct dialects of course. I think his dominant language is Russian though; he seems to use a lot of curse words from it. He used a lot of them when I inquired about the possibility of a soul-bond.” Answered Hermione matter-of-factly.</p><p>Meanwhile, on the other side of the Privacy Screen:</p><p>“He-Hey, Boris old chap ...</p><p>No, I promise I will fix the damage on your end. Yes, I'll return your bicycle...</p><p>Sorry, I promise not to steal your potatoes again, I know...</p><p>Yeah, OK, I know I still owe you a couple of favours...</p><p>OK, more than a couple, all right...</p><p>Listen, you keep complaining about that good-for-nothing chosen one you have over on your Earth and how you're never going to solve your Voldemort problem, I have a proposition. No, this isn't a prank. I promise... You see, I've got a soul on my end that could really use a second shot, and last time I checked she's still alive in your world. Yup, that Granger girl.</p><p>Yeah, so that body isn't in the best condition, but she's still alive ... right?</p><p>OK, medically dead. That's even better!</p><p>How about I do you a trade, eh? I can give you my chosen one in exchange for letting the Granger girl on my end ...</p><p>Oh, no, this is certainly not a way for me to worm myself out of early dismissal...</p><p>Great, Great! Wait, Vodka on me tonight? Fine. I'll pay for your drink. Just make sure Artyom doesn't come scratching on my windows next time you visit your Babushka.”</p><p>Vladim hung up on his neighbour and vanished the privacy screen, only to see a Harry and Hermione in a rather intense snogging session.</p><p>“Good News Everyone!” he announced, “we're making an important delivery to Earth version 233.56.348.34!”</p><p>“Uh, please explain?” asked the red-faced couple.</p><p>“Well, I, in an exercise of my splendiferous intellect.” Vladim had adopted an annoying Victorian accent at this point, “have managed you two exclusive tickets to a new life, all you need to do is step right through this door here.” Vladim gestured to a rather elaborate door that just appeared to his left.</p><p>Harry and Hermione regarded Vladim with a pair of questioning glances, before Harry tentatively went through the door, closely followed by Hermione.</p><p>“And not even a good-bye. Well, at least those two are out of my hair for good. NEXT!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Disclaimer: Life of Boris and the associated characters of Boris, Artyom, Vladim, and Boris's Babushka (Grandmother) is property of "Boris".<br/>The Futurama reference is intentional, though I am also aware that it only started airing a year after 1998.</p><p>---</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4. Miracles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Evelyn Granger drove a seven-year-old, impeccably-maintained MPV down the A23. It was an hour-long journey that she and her husband had undertaken every week for the last seven years. It had become a ritual ever since that fateful halloween. Friday afternoon from Crawley to London as soon as they closed their practice, and Sunday Night from London to Crawley as late as they could push themselves. The MPV they used for their ritual was almost normal-looking on the outside, similar to those driven by other caring parents while sending their children to football practice or book clubs, but there were some key modifications to the Granger vehicle. It was outfitted with a ramp for easy wheelchair access, which was well-oiled and frequently cleaned, yet bore no signs of wear. There were nylon and velcro restraining straps in place of the second row of seats, yet they looked brand-new, as if they had never been used. The car was old, yet it was new; it was efficient yet underutilized; it was built for a purpose yet the purpose was never achieved. It was a car of contradictions in a family that hated logical paradoxes, yet the Grangers never got rid of it. It was far more than a just a car for the Granger Parents. It was their deepest hope made manifest. It held a future that two atheists prayed for, a future that their rationally-inclined minds told them was never to be.</p><p>“One Day. Hermione might wake up. She'd need us then.” This sentence was spoken from husband to wife, from wife to husband, and from husband to wife again. It was the one thing that kept them going, the one reassurance, however ephemeral, that promised a future for their family.</p><p><br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
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</p><p>Midnight fell, finally, on the summer solstice. A grizzled old Healer was exhausted, only halfway into her long, pepper-up-potion fuelled shift. She had once been a master in her craft, her hands blossoming with life-saving magic; then, of course, there had been a “donation” to the hospital. As a condition, in the name of ensuring “a more trustworthy staff” in the wake of the first Voldemort war, background checks were implemented, promotions made for those of more honourable stock, probations delivered to those who were deemed unsafe and untrustworthy, all in the name of preventing Voldemort from “corrupting the healers of the wizarding world”. Strangely, the background checks consisted not of checking the left forearm of anyone who worked there, for that would wrongfully incriminate many upstanding members of society, those who could prove their ancestry. Instead, the criteria for healers were narrowed to those of the oldest families: Black, Potter, McLaggen, Malfoy, Lockhart, MacNair, Slughorn, Dumbledore, etc. Older muggle-borns were grandfathered in, but never received any task higher or more important than guarding the beds of those deemed equally untrustworthy.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Healer Karen Weall looked over the poor girl that had been her charge for most of the past decade. Healers were always supposed to maintain a professional relationship with their patients, yet she couldn't help but form a bond with the comatose witch. Perhaps it was a recognition of a kindred spirit, both muggle-born women, both whose potentials were brutally cut short by circumstances beyond their control. Whether it was by the club of a mountain troll or the pen of a conditional philanthropist recently “freed from the imperious curse”, it did not matter. What mattered was purity of blood, probity of ancestry, and three generations of magical citizenship. Like first-generations immigrants everywhere in the world, they were shunned, stunted, and shafted, prevented from ever actualizing their dreams. Perhaps the troll that bashed her skull in had done her a favour, Karen thought. She would never grow up to know the pain of disappointment, the impotent fury of inequity, and the fatigue of pointless exertion against legislation that they were denied even the power to change, or a voice to vote against.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She walked around patient Granger's bed, noting the depression of the quilts halfway down it. The troll hadn't merely damaged her brain, thought Karen sadly, looking at the empty void where Hermione's legs should be. Magic was wonderful, sometimes. Muscles can be restitched, skin resealed, bone regrown, as long as one treated it properly within a short time frame, but why waste those resources on a first-generation who had the slimmest chance of waking up? Amputation was far quicker, and the callous hospital staff could then move on to patients that their society deemed more important. Plus, when the muggle parents came along, it was so easy to delude them into accepting treatment that was barely adequate to ensure her survival, treatment options no better than the NHS that were only designed to milk the mudblood's parents for every knut, sickle, and galleon they could afford to exchange, signed by senior healers that Karen had no way to overrule. Dreamless sleep potion for a comatose patient, her arse! She tried her best anyways, sneaking in supplies from an Auror who had a limb blown off by a blasting curse, or from a pureblood who couldn't aim a culinary cutting curse right, not to mention the gallons of skelegrow (for preventing osteoporosis) and bedsore salve she managed to nick from the “pureblood-only” hospital stores. But despite all her ministrations, there was one thing she could never do: repair the connections of Hermione's brain. At best, she would wake up to no memories of who she was, or anyone she knew: the mind of a baby in the body of an eighteen-year-old. At worst, she could have a magical seizure and fry herself from the inside out. Despite the inability of medicine, muggle or magical, to heal such damage, she still considered it a personal failure.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Out of the blue, she saw a pulsation of green light and instinctively ducked down behind the hospital bed, drawing her wand, ever ready to defend her patient. Out stepped a skeletal figure cloaked from head to toe in black, holding aloft a giant sickle. After scanning the ward around it, the figure held aloft a small pebble, turning it three times. Karen gasped as a golden mist coalesced from thin air to form the body of a woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to her young charge.</p><p>“Are you really sure you want to come back, Hermione?” asked the figure, taking a long look at the body that lay on the bed.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes and punched the reaper lightly in the arm, though her fist passing straight through its target lessened the effect somewhat, “Quit twaddling, you prat. You know I want this. Wherever you go, I go, remember?”</p><p>“But your body...”</p><p>“Is in far better condition than we imagined it would be, and I agreed to Boris's conditions anyways the moment we joined.” interrupted Hermione. “Let's just get this over with.”</p><p>“You're cute when you're bossy.” remarked the reaper.</p><p>“Kiss me when I'm corporeal, you insufferable romantic.”</p><p>“Very well, my sleeping beauty.” he winked, grinning mischievously. “Come on, let's make this world see a medical miracle.” He placed the stone atop Hermione's chest and put the tip of the scythe on the glowing symbol.</p><p>“Пусть сила Светланы вернет душу в ее законное жилище.” murmured the reaper. The scythe glowed the same golden hue as the female figure who took hold of the instrument and flowed into the reaper's weapon, through the stone, and into the battered body of Hermione Granger. Hermione's breathing deepened as golden threads enveloped her forehead, knitting together into an intricate web that grew denser and brighter before fading into her skull. The grim reaper removed the hood of his cloak, revealing the face of a young man with messy hair and emerald green eyes. <em>Harry Potter?</em> Karen internally wondered. <em>How?</em> He drew a deep breath and placed his lips gently on Hermione's, as both teenagers glowed. <em>Impossible. Harry Potter kissing a muggle-born? What insanity is going on in the world!</em> thought Karen.</p><p>“Wake up sleepyhead.” he said affectionately as the girl's eyes fluttered open.</p><p>“I love you too...” she croaked, before her boyfriend held a conjured glass of water to her lips. Karen couldn't control her emotions any longer. “Just what the hell is going on?” she demanded, forsaking her hiding place and pointing her wand at the two teenagers.</p><p>“Oh sh--.” Harry remarked.</p><p>“Language, Harry!” rebuked Hermione, pushing herself up. “Uhh, we can explain?” she supplied.</p><p><br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Will follow Guidelines here to the best of my ability (https://www.reddit.com/r/HPfanfiction/comments/l6wqxi/to_those_writing_disabled_characters_please_do/) w.r.t. AU Hermione.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5 New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“OK. Hermione's real name is Princess Aurora and I am her betrothed prince from Mungo..., uh, Mongolia.” said Harry.</p><p>“Mongolia is a Republic and I watched the Disney film <em>Sleeping Beauty</em> when I was a girl.” replied Karen in a flat voice.</p><p>“Um, I am a Knight from an intergalactic order of magicals sent here to recruit Hermione over to the Light side?”</p><p>“Star Wars. The force of idiocy is strong with this one.” said Karen snarkily.</p><p>“I am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise?”</p><p>“I'll give you three seconds to have Scotty beam you up before I call security.”</p><p>“Harry, I think we can trust her. Plus, she's obviously not a Voldemort supporter with that knowledge of Muggle entertainment.” interjected Hermione.</p><p>“Are you sure? From the way he dresses himself I think Snape died defending his secret stash of batman comic books.” said Harry, disappointed that none of his pop-culture based alibis seemed to work.</p><p>Hermione guffawed at the jab concerning the former death eater before her expression turned serious. “Harry, you just apparated into a secure ward and kissed one of her coma patients after engaging in an act of necromancy. I think she at least deserves an honest explanation.”</p><p>“I don't think she'll believe us if she didn't believe the other stories.” replied Harry. “If she doesn't believe in Star Trek and mirror universes then she won't know we're from a parallel dimension; and if she doesn't believe in Jedi force ghosts then we'll have no way of explaining the resurrection stone, and since she obviously hasn't died before we can't tell her about meeting our reaper, the whole soul-bonding fiasco, and how Vladim and Boris agreed to let us 'immigrate' to this universe in exchange for solving its Voldemort problem.”</p><p>“And that's exactly how you explain everything in an easy summary. I'm impressed you managed to say that in a single breath.”</p><p>“You're rubbing off on me. I always thought you had an extra lung.”</p><p>Karen blocked out the banter of the two teenagers as she endeavoured to process the information she had just received. Parallel universes were theoretically possible if Schroedinger was to be believed (she silently thanked her physicist father for introducing her to quantum mechanics), and since she knew for a fact that Hadrian Potter kept a charm on him at all times to deter polyjuice imposters, it would be a valid explanation for the resemblance Harry bore to the Boy-Who-Lived. She cast her eyes towards Harry's direction again, scrutinizing his features: there were the green eyes and messy dark hair that were the defining characteristics of the Potter heir, but there was a small difference in his appearance: his eyes looked haunted, as if he had seen and dealt death numerous times in the past: they were more fitting on a war veteran than on a seventeen-year-old. His face was hollow, as if he had not been eating well, and he was a full head shorter than what a boy his age was supposed to be, suggesting he suffered through severe malnutrition throughout his childhood. She looked at her patient who was holding Harry's hand.</p><p>“Okay. I have no way of explaining anything that happened today, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. This doesn't mean you can abscond with my patient though. I need to give her a thorough check-up and contact her guardians.” she warned.</p><p>“My parents!” Hermione said, “I haven't seen them in so long.”</p><p>“Actually they left just a few hours ago.” said Karen, “Your parents have visited you every week since you were injured, in fact. Your mom and I have become very close friends. I can give them a call if you wish.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Five Minutes Later:</p><p>Dr. Richard Granger reached for the ringing telephone groggily. He had just collapsed into bed after a tiring hour at the wheel, and neither he nor his wife appreciated being woken up at this insane hour. A few minutes later, however, he startled his wife by jumping up and rushing to put his clothes on. “Hermione's awake!” he declared, enveloping his wife in a tight hug. She returned the hug with equal fervour before grabbing the keys to the MPV, thanking the heavens and the earth and everything in between that it would come into use now. Hermione was awake. It didn't matter to them how late it was or inconvenient it was. They would be there for their only daughter.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Hermione had been given a clean bill of health by Karen and was declared ready for discharge. She moved to the edge of her bed before looking down at her legs, or more accurately, the lack thereof. A sour bile rose to her throat. <em>This is my body now.</em> She thought. She knew there would be challenges when she agreed to come back in her counterpart's body. She knew from her extensive reading of the difficulties that amputees had to deal with; the weight and discomfort that prosthetics presented, the menace of phantom pain, and the extra effort it would take to achieve a similar level of mobility to what she was used to. She had made the logical decision: any body was better than no body, and on paper it was much better than having to spend the next century as a ghost. But faced with the prospect of being a wheelchair user for the rest of her life, she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right decision. How could she be anything but a liability in the Hunt for Voldemort? It wasn't as if Voldemort was the kind of person to build a ramp to Gaunt Shack where one of his horcruxes lay, or that the same man who was willing to kill a defenceless baby would scruple to point his wand at a woman in a wheelchair. Tears welled up in her eyes before she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“It's gonna be all right, Hermione. If there are any challenges, we'll get over them, together, like we've always done.”</p><p>Hermione swallowed before allowing Harry to wrap her in an embrace.</p><p>“Together.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The strong are often underestimated. The strongest often underestimate themselves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6. A New Identity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Less than an hour later, two bleary-eyed dentists stumbled into the ward, hurrying to the side of their daughter; their beautifully, magnificently-alive daughter.</p><p>“Mum! Dad! I can't breathe!” said Hermione, after being enveloped by two simultaneous Granger Hugs<sup>TM</sup>.</p><p>“Hermione. Oh, my dear, precious Hermione.” said her mother, tears running down her eyes as she stroked Hermione's bushy hair, caressing her warm cheeks, as if they would vanish if she looked away. Her father stood right behind his wife and looked fondly at their daughter, taking in every single detail, mesmerized by the beautiful brown eyes that she inherited from him. Eyes that he had last seen full of hope and life on the first of September almost seven years ago, hope that was dashed to pieces less than three months later. Eyes that were now looking at him with love and joy. He had constantly berated himself for sending Hermione to that blasted magical school, misled by that devious McGonagall woman and her promises that “Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain.” Safe? Safe enough for a twelve-foot mountain troll to sneak into an occupied bathroom? Safe enough to send his Hermione, the apple of his eye, into a seven-year coma? He seethed internally before reminding himself that it no longer mattered. Hermione was here, alive and lucid. He would do his utmost to protect her.</p><p>Under the Invisibility Cloak, another man stood, vowing to do the same thing for the family in front of him. He held his breath, not daring to move lest he interrupt this heartfelt moment between parent and child. He had lost his family in his Universe, first his parents, then Sirius, then Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Remus, and the rest of the Weasleys. He could not, he <em>would not</em>, let that happen in this universe. Taking a final look at the happy reunion, he gripped the Elder wand, and disappeared with an almost inaudible pop.</p><p>Night was giving away to dawn. At Hermione's insistence, the Grangers decided to wait to take Hermione home after some much-needed rest, falling asleep almost instantly on conjured beds on either side of their daughter. Hermione, on the other hand, tossed and turned on her sickbed, her mind restless with worry. Should she tell her parents the truth? What if her parents thought she was an imposter? Would they kick her out? Was she an imposter at all, or the same Hermione as the body's previous owner? After all, the divergence point in <em>her</em> life-story, as Boris put it, was when she boarded the Hogwarts Express, so she was theoretically the same Hermione that her parents said goodbye to. How was she going to explain her knowledge of events that happened while she was comatose? That was, if those events were the same between the universes. She wished Harry's calming influence was on the bed beside her, but she knew Harry had important errands to run and identification to obtain, lest he be deported as an undocumented immigrant by either the muggle or the magical authorities.</p><p>-----xxxxxxxOOOOOOOOxxxxxxx-----</p><p>An unnatural coldness seemed to permeate the air in Knockturn Alley. It bit deep into the bone, far more than any chill that greeted the dawn should in mid-June. Harry glanced at the dilapidated sign advertising “Phoenician Photographs and Documents” before entering the shop. There was an air of dubious authenticity about it, from the eerily moving figures on the walls to the grizzled old lady who looked up at her new customer.</p><p>“Care to take a photo, dear?” she asked in a creaky, high-pitched voice.</p><p>“Yes, three inches by four inches, and a quarter of a centimetre thick.” replied Harry, citing the dimensions of a standard EU passport.</p><p>“All right, come with me.” The lady got up and led Harry to what looked like a small photo booth, “I'll be with you shortly.”</p><p>Instead of a camera, there was a small mirror located in the booth. The old lady opened the window and waved her wand over her face, dispelling the glamour to reveal the visage of an attractive blond woman in her early thirties.</p><p>“Oksana.” Harry nodded, “Boris spoke highly of your services.”</p><p>“Oh, please; that sunglass-wearing old skeleton couldn't tell a Korean passport from a Finnish one.”</p><p>Harry chuckled, “It's really inappropriate to insult my boss like that.”</p><p>“Oh dear,” said Oksana, “how shall I put up with Reapers and their fragile egos. I suppose you'd be wanting British Wizarding Identification in addition to Muggle Identification?”</p><p>“Actually, Boris recommended something foreign, preferably post-communist.”</p><p>“Hmm. He does know his stuff. Soviet passports are the easiest to obtain*, and it <em>is</em> easy to pretend to be an overlooked Russian muggleborn. How would you secure your legal status here though?”</p><p>“I intend to apply to Hogwarts.”</p><p>“Magical educational visas? They'll force you to wait two years if you're muggle-born.”</p><p>“Not if the application was, or technically, will be, submitted two years ago.” Harry smiled.</p><p>“Very well. I'll take your photo shortly. What name do you want on it.”</p><p>“Harry. Harry Evans.”</p><p>“That's a rather English name.” commented Oksana, raising a delicate eyebrow.</p><p>“My father was British.” he replied.</p><p>“That would be five galleons, plus one for the photo.”</p><p>“A bit cheap for an entire set of falsified documents, isn't it?” asked Harry.</p><p>“I have a loving husband and two daughters, Mr. Evans. Trust me, I am not stupid enough to overcharge the Grim Reaper's new intern.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------xxxxxxOOOOOOOOxxxxxx--------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Hermione woke up to the soothing sensation of a hand gently running through her curls. Squirming a bit before rubbing her eyes, she mumbled: “Harry, what time is it?”</p><p>“Who's Harry?” asked a concerned Richard Granger, withdrawing his hand to look at his watch. “And it's ten thirty, your mum's off to get you some breakfast.”</p><p>Hermione stared at her father for a while before the memories of last night came rushing back to her mind.</p><p>“Dad,” she asked, “what year is it?”</p><p>Her father looked a bit uncomfortable, biting his lip just like his daughter did when faced with a difficult arithmancy question, or that time when she had to explain to McGonagall why she and Lavender were in the Gryffindor boy's dorm at four a.m.</p><p>“Hermione, before I answer you I want you to know that you'd been in a coma for a very, very long time.”</p><p>“I know, dad. That's why I asked what <em>year</em>, not what day. Please just give me a straight answer. Wizards don't use calendars, you know.”</p><p>“Your mum and I wanted to break this to you gently, dear, but we didn't expect you to be so perceptive. It's June 22<sup>nd</sup>, 1998.”</p><p>“So I'm almost 19 years old.” Hermione said. <em>It was quite nice</em>, she thought. <em>That meant she wouldn't be restricted by the trace, as long as she could get access to a wand. At least Boris hadn't dropped her into the middle of fifth year. Wait, her NEWTs! How was she going to take her exams? She didn't even have OWLs in this universe!</em></p><p>Seeing the panicked look on his daughter's face, Richard mentally kicked himself for not following his wife's advice. Then again, they both knew that it would be nearly impossible to keep anything from their borderline-genius daughter.</p><p>“Hermione, I know it's a lot to take in, but we'll be here for you, every step of the way, for as long as you need us. We love you.”</p><p>“I'm fine dad. It'll be OK. I love you too.” <em>I just hope you won't break down when I tell you the truth.</em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>---xxx---Meanwhile At the Ministry of Magic, Department of Foreign Affairs---xxx---</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Percy Weasley yawned before returning to his boring, poorly-paid, low-level desk job. Frankly, being a pure blood, he thought he deserved more than the tedium of sorting through international student applications. Still, he was only two years out of school**, and at least he had a job, unlike the twins who were still driving their mother crazy with their crackpot inventions. <em>Seriously, if they couldn't launch their mail-order joke shop in the two years when Hogwarts shut down for the chamber of secrets tragedy, it wouldn't be likely that they could get it off the ground now.</em> At least Ginny seemed to be following in his footsteps, having received the Gryffindor prefect's badge last year.</p><p>While the job paid very little, it could still be considered a sinecure with the amount of work that he had to do. Nobody in their right mind would apply to go to a basilisk-infested magical school, not to mention that the name Hogwarts no longer carried the prestige it once had in the eighties. With students consistently scoring less than passing grades in Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic, the school had tumbled in the ICW's world rankings. As a matter of fact, he had processed a grand total of two applications ever since he took the job two years ago, and both of them had withdrawn their applications as soon as they got acceptance letters from Beauxbatons or Ilvermorny.</p><p>Therefore, Percy Weasley was quite shocked to see a Hogwarts application for one “Harry J. Evans”, muggle-born orphan, of Sankt-Peterburg, Russian Federation. After checking that it had been through the requisite two-year processing delay for muggleborns, and ensuring that it hadn't been withdrawn at any point in the time period, he wiped off the thick layer of dust on his stamp pad before stamping the parchment with thick, blocky capital letters of approval. He sent the document along to the ministry post-officers before returning to his very important, even crucial job of doing absolutely nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*The Russian Federation continued to issue Soviet Union Passports until 1997, with a validity of five years. This story begins in the summer of 1998, so the last batch of USSR passports would still be well within their useful life at the time of this writing.</p><p>** Percy should have graduated in 1994. However, in this universe he graduated in 1996 because it took them two years to hunt down the basilisk. And Ginny's still alive because she wasn't the person to open the chamber of secrets.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7. Meet the Grangers, Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After receiving some feedback, it may make more sense to post shorter chapters more frequently. Enjoy this little chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione sat on her wheelchair in the waiting room, finishing up the small bowl of oatmeal her mother brought her while her father finalized the checkout process. She longed for something more savoury and substantial, but her mother gently reminded “her little pumpkin” that her stomach wouldn't be able to handle anything more after almost seven years on nutrient potions. She missed her mother's voice, even if it made her blush to be called by her childhood nickname. Her parents still treated her like a twelve-year-old, since she had yet to give any indication that she was any older, mentally speaking. Normally, that would have grated on her, but after a year of tragedy and loss, a year of poor provisions and freezing winters, a year bereft of any trustworthy adult figure, she couldn't help but smile. When she obliviated her parents in the prime universe, she had convinced herself it was for the best, and perhaps it was; Monica and Wendell Wilkins wouldn't have a dead daughter to mourn, but when she looked into her mother's soft brown gaze, full of love for the daughter she just recovered, she found it impossible to imagine doing anything that could take their daughter away from her. She mulled over how to break the truth to her parents. Would they accept her as their flesh and blood? Will they accept Harry as her husband-in-all-but-name?</p>
<p>Her thoughts were interrupted by her father returning with a thick folder of parchment in his hand. Her mother opened the door while her father wheeled her into the first ray of sunshine she experienced in this universe. It felt surreal to be back in the bustling streets of muggle London, to be accosted by the smells of diesel fumes rather than the pungent odour of disinfectant potions. Her parents wheeled her up the ramp of the people carrier before gently transferring her to the third row of seats and asking her to buckle herself in. They set off on the long drive to Crawley, Hermione drinking in the sights that flew by in the windows of the minivan. It was a long year of endless hiking and living in a tent, and she realized she had almost forgotten how fast and comfortable muggle transportation could be, especially at the hands of experienced drivers like her parents. <em>Maybe when we’re done, I can get Harry to learn how to drive; then again, if his flying style is any indication, </em><span><em>I</em></span><em> would be in for a hell of a ride.</em></p>
<p>When they drove past the beautiful, red-bricked building that Hermione grew up in, she grew concerned. “Dad? Isn’t our home over there?”</p>
<p>“Oh, Pumpkin, we forgot to tell you; we ran into a bit of money trouble and had to sell the old house. We’re still in the neighbourhood though.” said Richard as he pulled into the driveway of a much smaller, single-storied wooden house.</p>
<p>“What money trouble?” Hermione asked. Her parents, both dentists, had a considerable income and weren’t the kind to take out loans or make unwise financial decisions.</p>
<p>Her parents shared a glance, looking distinctly uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“When you got hurt, Hermione, we weren’t able to convert <span>enough</span> money into wizard currency to pay for your treatment at St. Mungo’s,” said her mother, “so <span>the hospital took out a</span> loan from Gringotts in your name.”</p>
<p>Hermione groaned. The goblins were not known for their generosity, or low interest rates. “How much did <span>we</span> owe them?” she asked, fearing the answer.</p>
<p>“Twenty thousand galleons, not including interest.” replied her father.</p>
<p>“When the goblins finally told us the interest rate was 10 percent per <em>month</em>, compounded each month, we had to sell the house quickly; luckily we were able to sell the house <span>for a good price in a month and a half, so we only ended up paying those little rascals 24 200 galleons in total.” supplied her mother.</span></p>
<p>“We were able to buy this house and the van with the money that was left, though the accessibility modifications cost a bit more.” her father finished.</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione was shocked that her family had lost the equivalent of 121 000 pounds to wizarding medicine and goblin greed. All of her stays in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and at St. Mungo’s in the prime universe had been free of charge. That was certainly not the case in this universe.</span>
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<p>“<span>How much did they charge you?” asked Hermione.</span></p>
<p>“The initial operation was 30 000 Galleons, and they charged twenty-eight galleons a day for your long-term care.”</p>
<p>“That’s outrageous! It's almost a year's income!” Hermione yelled.</p>
<p>“<span>Enough about that, Hermione. You’re alive and healthy, that’s what’s most important.” said her mother. “No amount of money can replace your well-being.”</span></p>
<p>After washing her hands at her parents' insistence (living in a tent had clearly dented her sense of personal hygiene, she thought), Hermione was wheeled into her room. Though a bit smaller, it was as faithful a reproduction as possible to the room she had before she went to Hogwarts in first year, down to the embarrassing pink wallpaper with blue polka-dots. There were a few changes: the bookshelves were lower, the books rearranged so her favourite tomes were always within arm's reach, the writing desk had more space under it to place her wheelchair, and the bed had retractable guard rails on it to prevent her from rolling off, but it was abundantly clear that her parents had painstakingly arranged everything to make sure the room was familiar to her.</p>
<p>“Do you like your new room, Hermione?” her father asked.</p>
<p>The tearful hug from his daughter was all the answer he needed.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8. Meet the Grangers, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What was a tiring night for the Grangers became an absolutely exhausting one for the hapless intern by the name of Harry Potter, no, wait, Evans. He could barely keep his eyes open after spending the past several hours apparating halfway across Europe to deposit his freshly-created birth certificate with the Russian muggle authorities. A confounded clerk here, a memory-charmed security guard there, and a few lines of SQL code on a poorly-secured system (thank goodness for Boris's programming tutorials) ensured that he now had the documentation to back up his dubious claim to legal existence in this universe. Bone-tired from repeated apparitions between Saint Petersburg, Moscow, and London, and severely hobbled by his admittedly rudimentary grasp of the Russian language (something that he would have to rectify soon), Harry looked forward to a comfortable afternoon with his newly-bonded soulmate.</p><p>Hermione was quietly reading a copy of <em>The Hobbit</em> in her queen-sized bed when she heart a faint pop, signalling Harry's arrival.</p><p>“How did it go?” she asked.</p><p>“It was tiring, but easier than we anticipated. I just need to wait for my Hogwarts confirmation letter before I can get settled in here.”</p><p>“You know we could just get married,” she said, beckoning him to sit beside her, “it'd be a lot easier for you.”</p><p>“Yeah, but isn't the groom supposed to get the bride's father's permission?” he asked.</p><p>Hermione sighed. “That's going to be a problem. My parents still think I'm mentally twelve.”</p><p>“When do you plan on telling them?”</p><p>“I'm not sure Harry. Every time I want to say something I clam up; they just got their daughter back, and I don't want to ruin their perfect world.”</p><p>“I understand, Hermione. But the longer you keep the truth from them, the harder it's going to be for them when they do find out.”</p><p>“Tonight?” she asked, “when Mum comes back from the practice?”</p><p>“Sure. Now, seeing as this house has only two bedrooms, would you happen to know of a place where I can take a nap?” asked Harry, feigning an innocent look.</p><p>“Oh come here you rascal.” said Hermione, playfully pushing her boyfriend into the spot beside her.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>------xxxxxxOOOOOOxxxxxx------</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Harry awoke to the soft chime of a doorbell, signifying Hermione's mother coming home for dinner. The dentists had decided to alternate their work days so someone would always be home with Hermione in case she needed them. It meant a decrease in the number of patients they could see, but with Hermione out of hospital, they could afford the slight reduction in income. 28 Galleons a day, or 140 pounds, was just enough to use up all of their disposable income, minus taxes, groceries, and basic utilities. Evelyn juggled the bags of cheap groceries while reaching for the key to lock the van; she had thought her days of coupon-cutting were over when she finally got her dentistry degree. That world came crashing down as quickly as a girls' toilet stall in a troll attack. The sight of her smiling husband banished all those negative thoughts as she looked forwards to the first dinner with her revived daughter. Borscht had always been a favourite of Hermione's, and, with her stomach still not fully suited for solid food, it would be the best for a welcome-home supper.</p><p>Hermione slipped the Cloak over Harry just as the door opened to her parents. Her father offered to push her to the dining room, but she simply hauled herself to her chair with her arms before disengaging the brakes and spinning it around.</p><p>“I can push myself, dad. I know how to use wheelchairs.”</p><p>A small smile crossed Richard's face before he led his daughter, invisible boyfriend in tow, to the family's dining room.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The dinner was delicious. Hermione was in gustatory heaven as she savoured the Eastern European broth with a side of mashed potatoes. Surreptitiously flicking her wand (or rather the wand Harry won from Draco in the prime universe; her wand had been destroyed in the troll attack), she transferred a portion of it to a conjured bowl before delivering it to an invisible depression in the living room sofa.</p><p>When dinner was finished, Hermione addressed her parents with a serious look on her face.</p><p>“Mum, Dad, I have something to tell you.”</p><p>“What is it, Hermione?” asked her mother.</p><p>“Promise me you'll listen to the whole story.”</p><p>“Of course.” replied her father, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“I'm not the same Hermione that got attacked by a troll in the bathroom. I'm from an alternate universe, a universe where someone came to rescue me. As a matter of fact, he's right here in this room. Harry, you can take off the cloak now.”</p><p>The Grangers stared in shock as a green-eyed young man materialized beside their daughter.</p><p>“It's a long story, but please stay with me.”</p><p>Hermione recounted adventures detailing three-headed dogs, hippogriff rides, and subterranean magical compounds run by the government. Harry told of giant snakes, dementors, and cursed graveyards. Both recounted the many horrors of the Horcrux hunt, from Inferi and fire to strangling lockets and Ron's ill-fated rescue attempt. A life on the run in a government that made Nazi Germany look tame in comparison. Hermione's voice trembled as she recalled seeing Harry's limp body being carried by Hogwarts' gentle half-giant; Harry let tears fall as he told of Hermione's death and the final battle against Voldemort. Evelyn looked on with an expression of disbelief, while Richard stroked the stubble on his chin, his face pensive.</p><p>“I decided to end it all, and I tried, but even in death, Hermione didn't want to let me go.” He smiled. They weren't able to speak of the specifics in the Afterlife.</p><p>“We became soul mates, and we were able to travel to this universe as long as we helped them end the dark lord here as well.” added Hermione. “Since I was dead, I had to leave my body in the previous universe.”</p><p>“When we arrived, I had to reintroduce Hermione's soul to her body, this body. Because our Hermione's soul was older and more experienced, it subsumed her younger counterpart.” continued Harry.</p><p>“So what happened to <em>our</em> daughter, then? She's gone, isn't she?” asked Evelyn.</p><p>“She’s right in front of you.” said Harry, his own heart shattering as he watched Hermione break down into tears.</p><p>“My daughter is dead.” said Evelyn, turning her back on the young couple before storming into her and her husband's room.</p><p>Richard sighed and turned to the pair. “Give your mother some time, Hermione, she'll come round.”</p><p>“You believe us?” asked Hermione, blinking away her tears.</p><p>“When I graduated from dental school, I thought science had an explanation for everything: the formation of stars, planets, the evolution of life on earth. I dismissed anything that can't be explained by its laws as fantasy and fiction. Then my own daughter started turning my hair blue when she didn't want to eat spinach and levitate her favourite books when she couldn't reach them, not to mention the time I saw a grown woman turn into a tabby cat and back before telling me that my daughter was a witch. If I can believe magic exists, then frankly I shouldn't be surprised by something that could be explained by plain old quantum mechanics.” said Richard, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “Honestly, a better question would be 'what couldn't I believe these days'.”</p><p>“Only you could call quantum mechanics plain and old, Dad.” said Hermione, smiling herself.</p><p>“And only my daughter would be smart enough to bend the rules of physics itself and cross universes.” replied her father.</p><p> </p><p>------xxxxxxOOOOOOxxxxxx------</p><p> </p><p>Evelyn cried into her pillow before she heard the door open to her husband's firm footsteps. Walking over to the bed, he placed a hand on his wife's back.</p><p>“Talk to me, Eve.”</p><p>“What's there to talk about?” retorted his wife, still suppressing a sob.</p><p>“You know, I always thought I had married the smartest woman of her class.” said Richard, “I just can't see why the woman who calmed me down about Hermione's magic can't accept that her daughter is from a parallel universe.”</p><p>“But she's not the same Hermione. Not our Hermione.”</p><p>“If we follow that train of logic, Eve, then wouldn't it be the same if got this universe's Hermione back after a coma? She'll have changed. Brain damage, personality alterations, you name it. Even if she woke up as the exact same person she was before her accident, she'd be a twelve-year-old in an adult body. She would never be the same. Keep in mind that the younger Hermione's, our Hermione's soul merged into this Hermione. She is our daughter through and through, no matter how you want to define it. She's the same daughter we raised until we sent her off to school, and nothing can deny that.”</p><p>“It wasn't just that Richard. We failed her. Us, them, the other Grangers, it doesn't matter, Richard. She's not our daughter because we were never there to raise her, not since we, they, whatever, sent her up to that fucking school.”</p><p>“Then isn't that a second chance, Eve? A second chance for us to give our daughter the support that we couldn't give her in the other universe? A second chance to show her what it feels like to have responsible parents who cared for her more than her grades? It took a troll to knock that into us, Eve, to make us see that there were more important things than academics and schoolwork as far as our daughter was concerned. We prayed for another chance to raise our daughter, Eve, remember that?”</p><p>“I really messed things up, didn't I?” said Evelyn, turning her reddened eyes towards her husband's, “I had a chance to have my daughter back right in front of me and I threw it away like a fool.”</p><p>“No, you didn't, Eve. You just needed time to accept things and use that brilliant brain of yours.”</p><p>“Would they forgive me?”</p><p>“Eve, Hermione loves you, just as much as I do. She's our flesh and blood. She wouldn't be our daughter if she couldn't forgive you.”</p><p>Evelyn sniffed, and nodded.</p><p>“Hey, look on the bright side,” added Richard, “with Harry being Hermione's soul mate and everything, plus her already being an adult, we wouldn't have to deal with any teenage relationship angst, ever.”</p><p>His wife chuckled, burying herself into his arms. All was well, at least for now.</p>
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